He's my kid

I often joke that I was merely a stainless steel vessel, an incubator if you will, that had no real genetic involvement in the making of my child. He's looked nearly identical to my husband since birth. When people say, "I think he looks like you," I look at them as if they have two heads. I like to claim his nose (because I think it's cute and upturned), and that's about it. I also lay claim to his charming personality and when it shows, his sense of humor. A girl's gotta cling to something.

Tonight at dinner -- a real, live, out-to-eat at a restaurant dinner -- to celebrate a milestone occasion in my life that I didn't spend with my family, his meal came with dessert. Apple slices with caramel. Totally violating all double-dipping rules, the kid really could have gotten one apple slice and two small cups of caramel for all the apple that he ate. "Dipping," he proudly stated, holding an apple slice firmly between his fingers. "Dip-ping"

The crowning moment? When he picked up the caramel container, having determined that dipping was getting him nowhere fast, and tried to drink it.
"Sticky," he proclaimed all the way to the bathroom, charming everyone we saw. "No more sticky," he declared all the way back to the table.